


What Lagertha saw

by swanpride



Series: What they saw in Wessex [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanpride/pseuds/swanpride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never underestimate Lagertha, especially not her ability to read Ragnar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Lagertha saw

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta-Read. I might do a couple of those, so if someone is ready to jump in and look over my work, I would be very obliged.

When Lagertha asked Athelstan if he had escaped, she already knew the answer, but she wanted to push him into delivering his message. She had noted the fine clothes. She had noted the golden cross around his neck. She had noted the donkey. As if the Saxons didn’t really expect him to survive the encounter. They were ready to risk his life, but not losing a good horse.

Athelstan was, naturally, unaware as ever. While he was obviously unsure of his welcome, nothing in his demeanour spoke of fear for his life. Not even when Horik insulted his honour and Floki mocked his new clothes. “Is he prepared to offer us a hostage?” she asked, before they had the opportunity to rile up the crowd into killing Athelstan for being a traitor. And she listened. Athelstan believed in the honour of this King Ecbert, but he was always fast to see the good in everyone. Nevertheless, if they wanted to salvage something after Horik had made a mess out of this raid by storming ahead without thinking, if they wanted to rescue Rollo (and Athelstan?) they had to negotiate.

Naturally Horik tried to shut her down, tried to question her right to make a decision. Lagertha didn’t bother reminding him that she was a Jarl in her own right, the third member of this alliance of “equals” and, unlike Ragnar, not bond to Horik through any fealty oath. She had known that it would come to this the moment Horik made his little “no one can more equal than the other” speech. She was no fool, she had seen that Horik and Ragnar were in a battle for leadership, which gave her the ultimate power. If two in a group of three were constantly opposing each other, it was the third who made the decision which option got the majority vote.

“You do not need to come,” she dismissed him, reminding him subtly that he had no say over her. In fact, he had lost more warriors in the battle than either Ragnar or her, which had weakened his position considerably. Still, Horik was dangerous, a wild card, who might made irreversible decisions at a moment’s notice. She just considered asking Bjorn to lead Athelstan to safety (she herself was too small to provide a good shield), when Ragnar stepped up to the task. Even better.

As soon as they were out of sight, Bjorn raised from his crouching position. “He didn’t change at all,” he noted. Lagertha slightly tilted her head in agreement, but it was half-hearted at best. Bjorn tended to see Athelstan as the demure slave who came to their farm. But when they left Kattegat, their priest had started to change. He had become more outgoing, more self-confident. Now he was acting like a caged little bird again.

“Is Athelstan alright?” she asked Ragnar when he limped back to them. Nobody else would have noticed, but she could read him better than anyone, and she felt the anger radiating from him.

“When I gave him back his arm ring, I noticed a new scar on his hand,” he answered. “A very odd one. As if someone drove something straight through his palm. There are also faint scars around his brow.”

That was – odd.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

He gave her a dark look and made a pose, arms spread out, head hanging, like the figure of the Christian idol nailed to his cross. Now it was her, who had to control her temper. In younger years, she would have vowed revenge, would have stormed ahead to set things right. With the wisdom of age came restrain, but for once it was hard to remember that there was so much more at stake than Athelstan, Rollo being one of it.

“I promised him that I’ll see him very soon,” Ragnar said through clenched teeth.

“ _We'll_ see him very soon,” Lagertha corrected. “And we will take a very close look at this king of his.”

If there had been any doubt in her what Athelstan’s true position with King Ecbert was, it vanished the moment she watched them interact with each other. The way Ecbert was grabbing both of Athelstan’s shoulders, pushing him around the table. The way he was laying his hand on him possessively. It angered her. Ragnar might have made Athelstan a slave originally, but he had been honest about it. Ecbert steered Athelstan around on an invisible rope, and the priest was following his lead, a broken figure, lost in this world which should be his home. She vowed then and there that they would not leave without their priest. As soon as Rollo was back with them, they would rescue Athelstan too, negotiations to be damned.

It was no surprise that Ragnar seized the first opportunity. She noted his hand on Athelstan’s thigh, when he asked his priest to come back. It curled around the fabric, ready to grab him and pull him to cover should any of the Saxons object violently to the notion of giving up the king’s pet.

Athelstan just looked at Ragnar. Then this eyes wandered over the camp, in the direction where Bjorn had vanished with Rollo. Finally they rested on her. She gifted him with a small smile and a nod.

“ _Say yes,”_ she willed him. _“Don’t doubt that you’ll always be welcome in our midst.”_

Slowly Athelstan lowered his head. Weighting his cross in his hand for a moment, he finally removed the golden chain around his neck and the ring he wore at his hand.

“Tell King Ecbert that I am sorry,” he requested of the King’s son, seemingly unaware how tense the hand on his thigh was. Ragnar was ready. She was ready, her hand resting lightly on her sword. Alas, the young lord simply accepted the tokens.

“Still a Pagan at heart,” he quipped.

Athelstan just smiled.

“Tell him that I have found my home after all.” Unsaddling from his horse he followed Ragnar into the camp.

Lagertha released a breath. She knew, Ragnar would have taken him anyway. 


End file.
